


crowned with gilt thorns

by oriflamme



Series: robots. robots everywhere [28]
Category: Books of the Raksura - Martha Wells, The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Raksura, F/F, F/M, M/M, Metroplex Is A Literal Tree, Politics, Polyamory, Shapeshifting, You're. Focking. Welcome.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 00:10:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17652353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oriflamme/pseuds/oriflamme
Summary: In the normal course of things, young consorts are sheltered, graceful, and demure.Starscream is not a normal consort. But he's the one that Windblade's stuck with, by her own choice, and Solus help her, her consort he needs to stay.Even if he does think it's acceptable to suggest assassinating the reigning queen of the court of Caminus in the middle of trade negotiations.





	crowned with gilt thorns

**Author's Note:**

> Martha Wells:  
> 
> 
> Me, crying at the canon poly bi Antics of the Raksura books: Thank you so much Ms Wells I'm gonna make it about robots now

In the normal course of things, young consorts are sheltered, graceful, and demure.

Starscream is not a normal consort. He's lithe, dangerous, and proud, with matte black spines just a little too long and claws that don't retract and a thorny headcrest underlain by bone. If his skin weren't a warm, familiar Raksuran brown when he shifts to his wingless form, he would be terrifyingly indistinguishable from a Fell ruler.

But he's the one that Windblade's stuck with, by her own choice, and Solus help her, her consort he needs to stay.

Even if he does think it's acceptable to suggest assassinating the old queen of the court of Caminus in the middle of trade negotiations.

-

Caminus was dying.

Still is, though the reigning queen Sunshield won't admit it. Sending Windblade as a diplomatic overture to the mountain-thorn court of Iacon was a way for her to expel a troublesome, disruptive daughter queen with no consort and no prospects, who argued a little too loudly, without raising the ire of the Arbora who had raised her to ask the hard questions.

And when Windblade arrived at Iacon with only a scant handful of female warriors Sunshield sent for appearance's sake to find the thorny tree overrun by Fell, she was grimly certain that Sunshield had succeeded. But the Fell were only half-Fell, the shattered remains of the Raksura court who once inhabited the mountain-thorn mingled with them in a shaky, volatile ceasefire, and both sides were trying to find a way to replace the dying seed at the heart of the tree. One thing led to another (including a voyage across the Sea of Rust with a mistrustful Starscream determined to accompany them, several encounters with hostile groundlings, the accidental adoption of multiple feral Raksura, and no less than two explosions) and it was Windblade who brought the new seed back to Iacon and coaxed the tree into accepting its new heart. Slowly, the tree came to smell less like death and moldering wood, and more like living, fresh greenery. Like a home.

It wasn't easy. Starscream attempted to kill her at least three times that Windblade knows of before he reluctantly, primly conceded that they _probably_ needed a queen for this strange, patchwork court to survive the turn. Otherwise, it was only a matter of time before the queens of the other courts decided to scour the half-Fell from the Reaches for their own safety.

A queen shouldn't have to balance out her own consort's vicious, avid political maneuvers in order to rule a court. Queens are stronger and larger, capable of keeping the others from shifting to their Raksuran forms, and if Windblade ruled an ordinary court she would rely on her first consort to keep _her_ from losing her temper; to bring concerns to her attention that she might otherwise overlook; to be a steadying influence in the court. Instead, she takes Starscream because it's the only way to unite this divided court and hold it together.

Starscream ruled Iacon before Windblade came, and he is _damn_ good at what he does. It takes adjustments - but Windblade can play his games. She can be the steady one, the patient, politely immovable queen, her instincts grounded and tempered by frost, while he rails against her.

(The first time he looks at her with grudging respect, without the calculation behind his dark eyes, Windblade knows that she's won.)

Still. Most days, Windblade lives on her last, long-suffering nerve. So she outsources their steadiness instead.

Chromia's bright blue scales bear new scars in her Raksuran form from the journey to find the new seed when they fall into the bower together. She's the largest and most experienced of the female warriors who came with Windblade, from the royal clutch of another queen, and it shows. She traces the web of gold and blue over Windblade's red back, her tail draped over the edge of the cushions as she rests her forehead against Windblade's. "He's going to kill you one day," she says, as she's said from the very start, and every day Windblade draws her close and proves to her that he hasn't yet.

It's normal for queens to seek the company of female Aeriat warriors, and consorts of male warriors. Of course, Starscream can't ever be normal. Wheeljack is one of the wingless Arbora, a mentor as competent as he is good-natured, and the only trouble Windblade has in coaxing him to join them in the royal bower is that he prefers staying close to the mentor workrooms. He's not even intimidated by her - most of the Iaconian Raksurans view her with mildly terrified respect after she succeeded in persuading Starscream to back her.

But finally, one eye twitching, Windblade manages to dump Starscream on top of him. She's stronger than both of them, and it's for their own damn good. "Now _go to sleep_ ," she orders them, a queen's growl rumbling low in her chest.

Quite wisely, they obey. Chromia fidgets and shoots Starscream the evil eye over Windblade's chest, and Wheeljack stays up later than he should paging through one of the books from the mentor's library, resting the book on the back of Starscream's head so that he has no choice but to drowsily glare back at Chromia while wrapped around Wheeljack, and eventually they all figure out how to not kill each other in their sleep. A tall order, apparently.

But sweet Solus, Windblade is going to keep this court from ripping itself apart if it kills her. She threads her soft claws through Starscream's in between them all, and tries to feel the trust she wants to see in return.

-

Fitting the half-Fell properly into the mountain-thorn takes some innovation. The half-kethel warriors transform into aerial forms that dwarf most of the fullblood Raksura, more than thirty paces long in many cases, which means that the entrances grown into the tree of Iacon when it was first colonized aren't wide enough to accommodate their wingspan when they come into land. Starscream ruled with the bare minimum of compromise - he let the half-Fell carve new entrances into the mountain-thorn with ruthless efficiency, and tapped the heartwater of the roots without heeding the warnings of Iacon's dwindling number of Raksuran mentors because the original drainage system failed long before they returned to the court. Scrapper, whose construction team led most of the reconstruction efforts to shore the tree up while it was slowly dying, has little respect for the tree itself; he treats it mostly as a recalcitrant hunk of wood.

Windblade puts her claw down. Then, when a small flock of eager, stubborn young Arbora and Aeriat arrive from Caminus's court in Windblade's wake, Lightbright puts her blue foot down as well, fists on her hips. She's tinier than most of the Iacon mentors, with a flyaway crown of golden hair, but just as solid and muscled as any of the Arbora. Before her implacably cheerful will, the half-Fell Raksura fall back, abashed. "Let's ask nicely, first," Lightbright says brightly, rolling up the sleeves of her shirt, and she and Nautica set to work persuading the mountain-tree to grow into a new formation.

Soon the knot of the entrance hole creases to allow for more lead-in before the kethel need to transform and drop to land. Then Windblade comes down to the heart of the tree, and reaches out. The powers of a queen aren't the same as those of a mentor, but she can help connect them all - all these lives in her hands, burning so bright in the dark forest of the Reaches - and with their humming focus linked the mentors push the mountain-thorn further still. When they return to the inhabited portions of the tree, a new opening wraps around the opposite side of the trunk from the main entrance: wide enough for kethel wings, the internal network of rooms and wells and balconies rearranged to make a new set of bowers just for the half-Fell who need more room to move freely. Starscream's people move in, wary, but with a growing excitement that makes them act more like fledglings than like a flight of Fell who spent their formative years eating other people - and eating each other - when they would've starved in the winter.

(Starscream cracked down on that, and looks bitter whenever the subject comes up. But Windblade is still very careful to emphasize on a regular basis that everyone in here is family, not food. Thankfully, most of them are too busy being fascinated by the concept of growing crops to feed themselves to fuss much.)

Ironhide, leader of the Iaconian soldiers, takes in the new opening with a wry, weather eye. "Well, ordinarily I'd object to a hole that big in our defenses," he says, ruefully, scratching the back of his head, "but hell. We'll guard it with kethel. No one will ever go near it."

Well. He's not wrong.

The Arbora swarm the new spaces, with the artisans from Caminus leading the charge, and soon the half-Fell are crawling up the walls as well, eager to help sculpt their new living quarters into something as beautiful as the rest of the old court. The kethel in particular squat alongside the Arbora, intensely engrossed in a debate how they want the mosaic inlay in the new entrance to portray them.

"Alright, alright," Starscream mumbles, arms folded as he surveys the flurry of activity with a dour look. "You _might_ be onto something with this."

Windblade flicks a wing at him and rolls her eyes. But she can't help but smile fondly, warm on the inside in the way she hasn't felt since her relationship with Sunshield first soured, and feels at home.

-

It was inevitable that an envoy would arrive from Caminus, really. Windblade wasn't supposed to succeed, let alone revitalize a new court in the heart of the Reaches, as a reigning queen with a half-Fell consort of her own. Moreover, the argument could be made that the Arbora and Aeriat who left Caminus to join Windblade's court permanently have been stolen; never mind that all of them chafed under Sunshield's rule, and saw Caminus's slow failing for what it truly was. Relations with the other nearby, smaller courts are strained, but Windblade personally visited them to forge alliances. Tenuous as they might be, their ties with the courts of Eukaris and Velocitron might save them one day, if a larger court takes offense to Iacon's stubborn existence.

But instead of sending another daughter or sister queen to mince words and posture, Sunshield comes herself.

Tension ripples through the court in waves as word spreads. Windblade sends Chromia out to make the proper reception before descending the central well herself to finish the formal welcome. The Arbora insisted on draping her in golden chains and claw tips to show her to her best advantage. But the fact of the matter is that while Caminus may be fading, it remains one of the oldest, richest courts of the Reaches. Sunshield outshines her in every way: her warm ivory scales overlain with a web of gold and bronze, her spines and frills framed by the sharp blades of a golden sun crown that extends down between her wings, with matching lines of gold bars fanning out over her chest. She has reigned for far longer than Windblade has been alive; when Windblade lands with all the sweeping grace she can muster, Sunshield towers head and shoulders over her, imposing and regal. She arches a brow at Windblade's appearance, but accepts the customary offer of tea, meal, and shelter for the night with the distant, condescending air of someone doing Windblade a favor. The half-Fell have been told to stay out of sight - the last thing they need is to give Sunshield and her warrior escort an excuse - but Windblade is piercingly aware of curious eyes following them as they ascend to the queens' quarters.

Still. Things are stiff, but not intolerably rude, until Starscream enters. Sunshield is condescending, yes, and negotiations between queens are always a careful dance of polite rudeness, but it is nothing Windblade can't bear. This is what it means to be a queen. She steels herself as the Arbora serve the meal, and holds her own until the moment comes for her consort to join them.

Of the warriors in the room, two of Windblade's guard are female half-Fell. Slipstream and Shatter were compromises with Starscream's contingent, so that Windblade wouldn't give the appearance of favoritism. But even in their shifted form, neither of the half-Fell look as different as Starscream - their scales are darker than normal for warriors, but with enough lavender and red respectively in their conformation that they can pass for Raksuran Aeriat.

But Sunshield's demeanor shifts the moment Starscream strolls into the room.

Which stings, because Starscream enjoys this. Windblade finds that the easiest way to deal with Starscream's ambition is to channel his energy into acceptable channels that make him feel important. Appreciated. And lo - when he sat down and listened for two damn seconds, Windblade was able to convince him that yes, he can make a dramatic entrance and act like a proper consort at the same time. He glories in attention. Let him have it. It took a while for the Arbora to catch on, but now Starscream comes out absolutely glittering with jewelry: rubies and sapphires and panels of delicately carved ivory, today, bright against the black silk of his clothing. He comes to rest nonchalantly at Windblade's right on the cushion waiting for him, preening as he shakes his hair back and leans against her with a shrewd, calculating smirk that only touches his wine-dark eyes.

"Still consorting with beasts, I see," Sunshield says, as casually as though she was commenting on the weather as she sips her tea.

Windblade forgets to breathe for a moment, stunned by the abrupt, dangerous insult. At the door, Slipstream and Shatter both bristle in unison, their raised spines and bared teeth matched perfectly by Sunshield's warriors, while Chromia stiffens on Windblade's other side.

The danger's on her right. Claws prickle along the curve of Windblade's shoulder as Starscream leans in. His smirk widens, but his eyes are sharp enough to cut. Windblade's breathless with shock; Starscream is breathless with _anticipation._ The slightest shift is all it takes, and they're in the room with a predator, not a consort.

"Oh. Let me," he murmurs in Windblade's ear, soft and hungry, his eyes never leaving Sunshield for a second.

The thought is too terrifying to be tempting. There's something fundamentally wrong about a consort fighting a queen - queens fight other queens, because they're the largest and fiercest warriors in a court. Instinct tells Windblade that it's too dangerous to let Starscream suggest such a thing, that she has to protect him; experience tells her it's too dangerous for all the wrong reasons.

But the insult can't be allowed to pass. It's about more than the sheer disrespect - it's about the fact that if Windblade doesn't respond, Starscream will go behind her back to take his own brand of revenge. More to the point, he'll never trust her to defend him in the future. That is just who he is, as a person. And she has a responsibility - to him, to her court, to all of the Reaches - to keep Starscream by her side.

It means a fight, against a reigning queen countless years older and more experienced and stronger than her.

But if Sunshield wants to drop anvils like that in the middle of a conversation, she must expect to get hammered.

Windblade cycles a deep breath, and sets her tea aside. Chromia is grim, but doesn't falter as she begins to speak in Windblade's place, signaling the insult taken. Starscream turns his head, inch by fractional inch, and watches Windblade's mask of an expression with that same latent intensity.

-

The half-Fell creep out of the woodwork and mingle with the rest of the court as the hour of the challenge draws near. Windblade resigns herself to it; so long as they don't try to intervene, she can't do much to prevent the Caminus delegation from taking their presence as an implicit threat.

But they damn well live here too. They have a right, and Windblade has a duty.

Starscream finds her before the challenge, though. She's taking a moment to steady herself in antechamber of the queen's bower, and detects his presence as a prickle of unease when the atmosphere shifts. She remains composed, unmoving, as her consort emerges from a shadow that couldn't possibly have concealed him.

His jewelry was loose in his unshifted form for a reason. Though Windblade outweighs him in their winged forms, it's not by nearly as much as she should. Starscream is matte black, his wings sharper and broader than any consort Windblade knew back in Caminus, and the rubies and sapphires cover him like a second set of scales.

"Can you beat her?" he asks, with an impersonal skepticism as he prowls behind her. "Or will you just let me deal with this the sensible way?"

As though she's the one being unreasonable in handling this with a challenge, like civilized queens. As though Starscream acting like this - like a Fell - isn't exactly what Sunshield probably wants to provoke.

It's not fair, really. Windblade has heard tales of a distant court where the first consort is notorious for lobbing kettles at queens when they threaten him, because he was raised isolated from Raksuran courts and learned to defend himself. _She_ had to get stuck with the consort who would rather gut a queen in her sleep, to salve his own brittle pride. If she doesn't do this right - if Sunshield wins, or Windblade doesn't strike the right note with Starscream, here and now - Starscream might do it anyway.

And if he goes behind her back even once, they're all lost.

So Windblade puts out her hand and waits, not looking back at him as she stares straight ahead. She can sense him watching the back of her head, calculating and cool. Sizing her up, parsing her mood. A normal consort would use that keen sense of a queen's temper to soothe and support her in equal measure, a counterweight in the court to the intimidating presence of a queen.

Starscream could so easily be a knife in her back, if she doesn't make him _hers_.

He curls around her like a shroud, his wings blocking out the room, his movements too smooth to be nonchalant anymore. He nuzzles the side of her face, testing to see if he can persuade her otherwise.

Windblade turns and carefully, so carefully, bites his neck. For Raksura, it's affection. With Starscream, it's a flip of a coin, every time.

Then she turns away, resetting her gold-webbed wings with a shuffle under his own. "Would you have let me fight your old ruler for you?" she asks, perfectly calm.

Starscream hisses at the mere mention of the fullblood Fell who used to control most of this flight, before they broke away. Then he freezes, and cocks his head to the side, turning her phrasing and her tone over in his head with an abstract frown.

 _Come on_ , Windblade thinks to herself, hoping against hope that Starscream will settle into the new perspective she's offering him. Not an insult to Starscream; an insult to Windblade, by a queen who slapped her down every time Windblade showed an ounce of the independence a fellow queen would need to have, or had an opinion of her own. A queen who would rather let her court slowly die than admit for one moment that Windblade might have a point.

Starscream considers it - and then the atmosphere in the room shifts, as he leans in and nips her neck in turn, almost pensive. Right over the neck artery, as always. But she's not in the room with a predator anymore; just her consort. "Make her pay," Starscream murmurs, and when Windblade rises to her feet and walks out onto the challenge field, his fierce, hungry smile follows her out. Outside, the kethel are thrumming in the afternoon heat, and Sunshield waits, arms folded, at the bottom of the well.

Windblade descends.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on the Raksura:
> 
> The Raksura are split into two groups of shapeshifters: wingless Arbora, who are artisans, teachers, hunters, and healers; and winged Aeriat, who are warriors, consorts, and queens. Pretty much everyone in a Raksuran court is bi and poly by default. 
> 
> The Fell are a subspecies who split from the Raksura's forerunner species ages ago, who migrate and prey on other sentient species, and occasionally try to interbreed with Raksura again. They are split into kethel, dakti, rulers, and progenitors. The rulers and progenitors have a psychic hold over the kethel and dakti, and can control other species with a form of hypnosis. 
> 
> In other words, this is some NICHE AU here, lads.


End file.
